


Zevran and Vhenari

by geekyjez



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Cunnilingus, Declarations Of Love, F/M, First Time, Love Confessions, Massage, Seduction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-28
Updated: 2015-07-28
Packaged: 2018-04-11 18:55:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,490
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4447847
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/geekyjez/pseuds/geekyjez
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A pair of one-shots featuring the start of Zevran's rather intimate relationship with Warden Surana. I may write more for them in the future, but for now... enjoy the smut.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. An Antivan Massage

Vhenari sat on the fallen log in front of the campfire, trying to sand down the chip in her staff. She’d been careless with the weapon. A hurlock had been bearing down on her when she was out of lyrium potions. Rather than run, she decided to take a swing at it, it’s jagged armor taking a chunk out of the wood. It had been foolish. The creature was barely deterred by the gesture and she could have easily damaged her weapon beyond repair. Thankfully, the assassin had used the distraction to attack the darkspawn from behind, dropping it easily with a blade to its throat. 

She leaned forward toward the fire, feeling the heat on her face as she blew away the wood dust, running her fingers over her staff, frowning as she inspected it. “You look so very tired, my Warden.” Vhenari glanced up as Zevran approached. There was something in his expression that she didn’t quite comprehend, but he was watching her very intently. “All this constant walking and fighting - it has left you looking quite tense.”

She shrugged, looking down again. “You’re not wrong.”

“Might I offer my assistance, then?” She felt his hand move to the back of her neck, his fingertips pressing in just enough to manipulate the stiffness in her muscles. Her brow furrowed, her eyes closing briefly as she let out a small groan. He leaned down, his lips close to her ear. “My thought is this - we retire to your tent and I show you the sort of massage skills that one only learns growing up in an Antivan whorehouse.”

Her eyes opened again, her breath catching as she turned her head to look at him. He’d been flirtatious before but this was… 

She looked around the camp, checking to see if anyone else had overheard. “Are you suggesting that we….” she hesitated, the words fleeing her.

“I am only  _suggesting_  that I help you relax,” he said quietly, his fingers working their way down to her shoulders as his other hand joined.  _Maker_ , it felt good. Nearly every part of her ached from sleeping with little more than a thin bedroll between her and the hard ground. “If you mean to ask whether or not there will be more than a massage involved,” he added, his lips so close they brushed against her ear as he spoke, “allow me to simply say that you won’t be disappointed with  _any_  of the techniques I’ve picked up over the years.”

"I don’t know if I- _Ah!_ ” Her words were cut off by a gasp as his thumb found a knot in her back, biting her lip as he slowly circled it.

“What is there to fear, my Grey Warden?” He asked, his voice low. “You deserve a little fun, do you not? You can take my offer for as much or as little as you wish. If you wish only to be massaged, then that is what you shall have.”

Vhenari hesitated, letting her lip slide slowly down from between her teeth. “That’s very generous of you.”

“What can I say?” He murmured. “I am a very giving man.”

She was still apprehensive when she agreed to it, a nervous fluttering in her stomach as she let him lead her away from the campfire. There were eyes on her, she knew. Some of her party members were probably not too keen on the idea of her disappearing into her tent with the assassin hired to kill her. There was not quite enough room for her to stand at her full height inside so she knelt, watching him as he entered behind her, securing the flap closed behind him. “Where should I…”

“Turn around.” He guided her as she did, kneeling behind her, his hands slowly slipping to the fastenings to her robe.

“Zevran-”

“The effect will be much greater if you are at least partially disrobed,” he said and she could hear the amusement in his voice. His lips pressed softly to her neck, making her shudder. “Do not fear me, Vhenari. If at any time you wish me to stop, simply say the word and I will stop - no questions asked. My aim is for you to enjoy this, nothing more.” She nodded, helping to slip off her belt as he continued his path down the front of her robes, flicking the hooks that held them into place free, peeling the cloth back from her shoulders. She allowed him to pull it away from her, hesitating briefly as he reached for the hem of her linen chemise before relinquishing it, letting him slide it over her head, leaving her in her breastband and smallclothes. His hands moved to her neck once more, the warm press of his touch feeling good in the chilled air. His fingertips were certainly well-versed, tracing along the connective pathways of muscle, working his way down slowly, pinching and pressing, pausing to circle the twisted knotted aches he found. She allowed her head to fall forward as he worked, his thumbs brushing the width of her shoulders, trailing down to the base of her spine, taking his time with her. He spread his hands along her hips, palming her flesh as she groaned, surprised to feel how much tension she’d been keeping there. 

“Feeling better, I take it?” He whispered and she nodded. His hands worked their way up her sides slowly, easing her back until she leaned against him. She could feel his breaths on her cheek, warm and steady as his fingertips slid over her breasts, feeling her through the breastband. His touch was much the same as it had been for the rest of her body, massaging the muscles in her chest rather than titillating her with lighter touches. Even so, each movement caused the fabric to rub against her, her nipples tender to the stimulation. He reached for the closure and slipped it open, pulling the cloth away gradually, awaiting any possible objection, audibly pleased when he heard none. When he began to touch her again, it was with the soft, teasing strokes of a lover - his thumb lightly circling, flicking, rolling her breasts in his hands. His lips went to her ear, his tongue tracing its length, suckling on the tip. She was moaning now - there was no attempt to stifle it as she had when he was massaging her. Her hips writhed and he shifted behind her, pressing himself forward so that each shift caused her to grind against him. One of his hands slid down, resting above her smalls. “Do you want more, my Warden?”

“Yes,” she answered breathlessly and he slid his hand beneath the cloth, tracing her folds with long, slow strokes. She bit her lip to stifle a cry, her hips pressing harder back against his own. 

“You have been with a man before, have you not?”

She swallowed hard as his fingers curled, pressing into her. “Once.”

“And did he make you come?”

“No,” she admitted, gasping. It had not been a positive experience. A few moments of kissing before some awkward painful rutting and then it was over. But this… this was  _entirely_  different. Her heartbeat was drumming in her ears, pulsing under his fingertips, the base of his palm grinding against her clit as he began to thrust into her in a languid, steady rhythm. 

“But you have succeeded in that task on your own, I hope.” When she didn’t answer, he pressed his fingers deeper, making her back arch. “You have pleasured yourself before, have you not?”

“Yes, but-”

“Ah,” he whispered, “but you have never come undone?”

“I… I don’t think I…”

“Believe me, Vhenari,” he murmured, “you would know.” She felt a tension like she never had before- as if each movement of his fingers was winding her tighter, pressure building deep inside her, her mind feeling clouded. When he pulled his hand away she felt hollow, aching from the lack of contact. She looked back at him, confused as he moved away from her. “Lie down.”

She obeyed, her stomach twisting somewhat. She knew what would come next and part of her was dreading it. Clearly he was a better lover than the one she’d had before, but she couldn’t imagine being penetrated by a man feeling any different, no matter what technique was used. Before, it had been painful and not at all pleasurable, leaving her feeling stretched and torn. Still, everything he’d done for her so far had felt good and she trusted him to keep his word and stop if she told him to. As apprehensive as she was, she did not object when he shifted her smallclothes down, though she demurely pressed her thighs together as he exposed her. He slid his hands between her knees, watching her face, silently seeking her permission as he parted them. 

She was surprised when he didn’t start to disrobe. His hands didn’t go to his belt, nor did he reach under the leather strips of his armor to free himself from his smalls. Instead he leaned down, his lips trailing along her thigh as he stretched his body out to lay between her legs. Her posture stiffened, suddenly aware of his breaths on her skin, his lips trailing closer. “What are you-“

“I take it no one has tasted you?” Her eyes widened, her breaths shallow as she shook her head. He smiled up at her. “I assumed as much.” He kissed her thigh again before dragging his teeth against it, making her tremble as his fingertips touched her folds once more, easing them apart. “Then it will be my pleasure to be the first.” He murmured.

He licked her and her mind went blank. 

" _Maker’s Breath_ ,” she gasped and he chuckled, teasing his tongue against her. Slow, hot, wet presses, tickling and sliding and unlike anything she had ever felt before. It was like a kiss only more and she quickly felt that sensation return, that steadily building swell of tension. Pleasure rang through her body, waves of shuddering, tingling. Her hips rocked unconsciously as she panted, breathing heavily as all thought left her. There was no camp, no Blight, no responsibility to save the world, just Zevran and his tongue and that feeling that made her heels dig into the ground beneath her. He flicked at her clit, circling it, tracing it, his fingers entering her once more, curling, searching until they found a spot that made her shout in shock, eyes closing from the intensity of the sudden shiver that tore through her. Then a rhythm, a pattern, a press, a grind, his fingers and tongue providing two very different sensations and yet they flowed together in unison, making it impossible to tell which was responsible for each moan and gasp that escaped her. She tried to quiet herself, whispering his name, urging him on. She could tell that there was something there, a lingering awareness that something was different. Lifting. Flooding. Filling. Words could not describe it but her head fell back once more, her breaths tight, her muscles quivering. Tension. Winding. Surging. Soaring. And then…  _and then…_

She felt the peak and the fall all at once, crying out as her body shook uncontrollably, feeling herself clench and pulse around his fingers, an indescribable heated rush flowing through every nerve ending, every pore, suddenly more alive than she had ever felt before. What only took a matter of moments felt like it stretched on forever as her senses slowly returned to her, as the roar of her blood faded and the trembling relaxed into the heaviest sense of relief she had ever experienced. 

She lay there panting, catching her breath as Zevran looked up with a grin. “That,” he said quietly, kissing her stomach, “is what it feels like to come. Not so easily mistaken, you see.”

“That was…” There were no words for what that was. “That was incredible. I didn’t know it could feel like that.”

He moved over her body, crawling forward until he knelt between her legs. “It can feel like a great many things,” he murmured. “You can have small ones and big ones. Ones that stack and build, one after another after another until you feel you will be maddened with pleasure.” She must have looked dumbfounded from the way he chuckled, reaching down to take her hand, pressing his lips to her inner wrist.

“So, my Warden,” he began, guiding her hand down beneath the leather strips that hung from his waist, pressing her between his legs. He was hard for her. Sensetive too, from the subtle hissing breath he took as her fingers made contact, feeling him through his smallclothes. “Do you wish to try out any of my other techniques?”

What had filled her with dread moments before now seemed enticing. She wanted to know how he’d be different, how good he could make it feel for her. She nodded and he grinned, leaning down to kiss her as her hands began to loosen his armor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realized I never uploaded these to AO3. I felt I had to remedy that. 
> 
> You have this prompt to thank for all the smut that followed. This is when I basically said "to hell with it" and stopped pussyfooting around writing more explicit stuff.


	2. Three Dreaded Words

His fingertips already knew her intimately. He knew how she liked to be touched; where the tension was held in her body. He knew the feel of her muscles, delicate as they were. Softened from a life in the Circle, away from combat and hard labor. Skin marked only with recent bruises and scars, most likely pristine before the Wardens took her into their service. Zevran’s hands traced the lines of her form now, rewarded with moaning sighs as he eased the ache from her back, circling and pinching and pressing his way downward. He straddled her as she lay beneath him, bare save for her smalls, the firm roundness of her ass cushioning him in a way he found more than simply pleasing. 

He was enjoying this new dalliance. As the weeks progressed, he found their evenings together were growing more frequent and he had no complaints. Vhenari was beautiful and eager for pleasure. Though he had not been the first to have her, her inexperience did provide a certain virginal quality that he found satisfying. For her, everything he offered was a new experience and her oftentimes startled appreciation brought him that much more gratification. Sex for her had been associated with nothing but pain and discomfort, ruined by a lover who was either too selfish or too stupid to know how to properly stimulate a woman. It pleased him to think that he could provide the benchmark that all later lovers would aim to live up to.

He leaned forward, stretching himself out along her back, giving a subtle thrust of his hips as he leaned in close to her ear, causing her to gasp. “This is your third time requesting a massage from me this week alone.” He said, pleased when he felt her angle her hips back to meet his. “You are growing fond of this, no?”

“You could say that,” she purred, shifting herself into a slow grind. He held her there for a moment, groaning softly as he bit the back of her shoulder, enjoying how it made her arch beneath him. He lifted himself from her, flipping her over onto her back and fell upon her again, pressing his lips to her neck. His hands trailed down, searching as she instinctively wrapped her legs around him. Nipples hardened from the press of his armor against her skin, stomach muscles fluttering as his light touch tickled. He massaged along her sides, squeezing and sweeping as he groped the flesh of her hips, easing lower to circle his thumbs along the crook where her legs met her pelvis, teasing a moan out of her as he eased the tension kept there. She looked up at him with half-lidded eyes, biting her lip. From the way her body rocked beneath his, he could tell she was more than ready for him. He reached down, beginning to loosen his belt but she stopped him with a light touch to his wrist. “Wait.”

He eyed her curiously as she sat forward, legs still draped around him as she propped herself up with one arm. There was a certain quality to how she looked at him that he did not completely understand. Something soft. She ran her hand along his cheek, fingertips teasing themselves into the hair behind his ear and she pulled him towards her, bringing his lips to hers.

They were not the kind of lovers who kissed. Not often, anyway. When they did it was a passionate, hungry press, a way to stifle moans, all tongues and teeth and desperation in the heat of the moment. A few times they had kissed outside of this context, but they were always brief and casual - the kiss of two people who have sex, but not those who were given to any romantic inclination. 

But  _this_.

This was different.

She pulled him with her as she laid back down, holding him with her legs, with her arms, embracing him fully as her mouth held his. The pace she set was slow. Deep. Stroking his lips with her own. Pulling back for a breath and only a single breath before she was on him again and he felt himself sinking. She was not rutting against him, not arching her back to press her breasts to his chest, not moaning with wanting, not presenting herself as some thrall to lust. Instead, she held him, caressed him, consumed him. Her kiss was something deeper, something truer, something real and not fleeting. When she broke for air again his name was a whisper on her lips, but this time he was the one to press forward, to capture her. Whatever this was, he was losing himself to it, this thing that felt strange and new and overwhelming. A thrumming current that flowed through their breaths, a rhythm she held that he felt he could connect to for the briefest of moments. His hand moved to the nape of her neck, gripping her, angling her head up to deepen the kiss and she gave into him, submitted entirely to him, warm and inviting. When he pulled away, it was a slow break, wet lips still lingering, brushing up against his own as she whispered.

“I love you.”

His stomach twisted as he pulled back, looking down at her. 

_Don’t say that._

Love was something that whores sold to fools who used their coin to lie to themselves for at time. Love was what he was trained to feign for his targets, whispering pleasured falsehoods with a hardened heart so the blade would slip in with ease. What he was doing here with her now, this  _thing_  that was growing between them - it was not so different than what he would do if he intended to fulfill his contract. Seducing her. Gaining her trust. Giving her pleasure to lower her guard so that she would not see it coming when his hand moved to crush the life from her throat, silencing her as his dagger sank into her side.

He pulled himself away from her, his hands on her knees to release the grip of her legs. “It is late.” He said. “I should go.”

Vhenari knew that he was fleeing from her words. That much was unavoidable. She looked up at him, pained. “Zevran-“

“You have had your massage.” He said coldly. “You should sleep.” She caught his arm as he moved toward the tent flap and he turned on her, frowning. “Have I not made my interests clear?” He snapped. “I wish to leave.”

The look on her face made him wish he could take those words back, but they had the desired effect. She released his arm and he turned, lifting himself to his feet, briskly exiting her tent and disappearing into his own before his eyes fell on any of the others in their party.

He lay there on his bedroll, staring up at the draped canvas, a low pit in his stomach. He felt ashamed. She had done nothing to deserve that reaction from him. The way she had looked at him, the pain and confusion. He wanted to soothe it away, to ease her heart as he had her body. The idea of being distant from her, of no longer sharing the intimacy they had been developing - it hurt him in a way he did not expect. She was someone to take fleeting pleasures with. Nothing more. That was what he’d always intended. That was how he was raised to think about sentimental emotion. It was a weakness. A liability. Something fools cling to. Fools that get themselves killed.

He had been right to push her away. He knew that he had been. Yet that night he lay there, unable to sleep, hounded by the sound of her voice repeating words that he both desired and dreaded.


End file.
